


Something Entirely New

by DaisyIfYouHave



Series: Post-WM Overwatch Universe [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Tracer gets a girlfriend who doesn't want to murder her: the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 11:22:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyIfYouHave/pseuds/DaisyIfYouHave
Summary: Getting stood up just might be the best thing that ever happened to Emily.





	Something Entirely New

She checked her watch again. It was a stupid thing to do, it had already been 40 minutes since she was supposed to be here, and checking her watch every two minutes was doing nothing to make her feel any better. She spun the glass of beer in front of her around, staring at the bubbles inside. This was so embarrassing.

“Oh, COME ON!”  There was a sharp cry from the other end of the pub, angled toward the game playing on the TV.

“Keep it down, would ya?” The bartender yelled back.

“As if I were the only one yelling in the whole of the pub.”

“Well, you’re the only one annoying me, as it is.” The bartender walked back to where Emily sat, alone. “Can I get you anything else, sweet’eart?”

Emily shook her head, her face glowing red in the light of the older man’s pity. She should never have come. The girl had seemed so excited to meet her, and then the text messages had gotten shorter and less interested, and Emily was left wondering what she’d done wrong.

She looked over, sensing something by her side. She was handsome, in a boyish way. The dim light of the pub glowed off her dark brown hair, and Emily could see a dusting of freckles across her nose, her face illuminated by a blue glow at her chest, that Emily tried not to stare at. She was small but not willowy, a strength and sturdiness behind her. She reminded Emily of a girl she used to go to school with, a gymnast.

“Are you all right, love?” The voice that had so recently been howling at the game asked her.

Emily nodded quietly.

“”Ope you don’t mind if I sit down, then.” She settled into the stool next to Emily’s. “I don’t know about you, but, I don’t ‘ave any engagement more pressing than this, ‘owever shameful it might be to watch,” she pointed to the tv, “at least, not for awhile yet. I do ‘ave to meet a few of my mates later, but I was a bit early,” She nodded and smiled slyly, leaning in as if she was telling Emily a secret, “by which of course I mean I forgot what time we were supposed to meet at all, until Win set me straight, and that’s it’s own challenge, love.” She exploded into a peal of laughter at her own joke.

Emily gave a weak smile and looked down into her beer. “Do you always hold entire conversations with yourself, then?”

“I find I am me own most active listener.” She smiled. “I wasn’t meaning to bother you. You just…” she shrugged, “you seemed so sad.”

Emily looked back at her, and behind the bright blast of loud personality, the worn leather jacket on her shoulders, marked with RAF patches, the careless toss of her hair, there was a genuine kindness and concern in her bright brown eyes. There was something Emily trusted instantly, in spite of her own very recent advice to never trust a girl who’s too confident and too handsome.

“You’re no bother.” She sighed. “I’ve been stood up, just now. I suppose I’ll finish this and go home.”

“Tough, innit? I just got out of something meself, you know, few months ago. It wasn’t serious, not to ‘er, I don’t think, but it felt serious to me.” She grinned and winked, swinging her jacket over the back of the stool, “Don’t let me playboy good looks fool you, I can be a regular ‘opeless romantic, from time to time.” She took a long drink of her beer. “‘E must be a right proper wanker, to forget a date with someone like you.”

“She.” Emily said it almost under her breath, but she noticed the girl’s eyebrows raise immediately, her delight played across her face.

“She? Well, in that case,” she pulled a wallet out of her back pocket and drew a car from it, depositing it into Emily’s hand. “Lena Oxton. Aviatrix, Overwatch agent, and Sunday league rugby player.”

The card was thick and heavy, embossed with a foiled logo she’d seen as a girl, on posters. Tracer, it said in heavily embossed letters, and just under that, Lena A. Oxton, field agent.

“Are you meant to go around telling everyone you’re an agent, then?”

Lena chuckled and shook her head. “It’s not precisely MI6, love. And aside from all that,” she indicated to the blue glow of the device on her chest, “fair to say I’m not engaging in any deep cover anytime soon, don’t you think?”

“I saw you on the telly!” Emily leaned forward in realization, “When Mondatta was–” she saw Tracer’s face fall, and she stopped herself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

Tracer shook her head. “Sometimes you lose, love, and that’s a fact. I’ve been in the military the whole of my life and…sometimes, you lose.” she waved her hand. “Right, enough somber talk, then, you’ve ‘ad enough of a night. Tell me you’re a Hammers fan, or I think my ‘eart will break.”

Emily laughed. “Sometimes, you lose, love.”

“This world is naught but a vale of tears for me. I thought we were done with sorrow, and then you ‘ave to go telling me that the greatest team in Britain–”

Emily looked over at the TV. “Are they now?”

Tracer leaned close, and Emily could smell the leather and ginger that must be her cologne. “Well, we’re all ‘aving an off night, aren’t we? ‘Ardly counts”

Emily giggled, and meant it, forgetting her sour mood of only a few moments ago.

There was a buzz from inside Tracer’s jacket and she rummaged through the pocket, drawing out her cell phone. “That’ll be Winston.” she looked down at the screen and then back up at Emily. “Asked him to warn me, when it was near time.”

“You’ll be going, then?”

Tracer picked up the card from in front of Emily and flipped it over.“I’m going to write me personal number on the back of this.” She bent over the bar, scrawling on the paper.

“So we can meet for a drink sometime?” She said, a note of hope in her voice.

Tracer shook her head, and handed Emily back the card. “So I can take you on a proper date. Where I buy dinner and wear a collared shirt’ she gestured to the dark pub as she put on her coat. “I don’t know what kind of girl takes you to a place like this, but me dad would box me ears if I tried that with a girl like you. It’s ‘ardly good enough for me to get pissed and watch footie in.”

“Why don’t you get out then, Lena?” The bartender leaned against the bar and scowled at her.  

“What, and miss our scintillating banter? Couldn’t do that to you, Mickey, what would the family say of me?”  She turned back to Emily. “If you don’t call, I’ll say nothing about it. So only if you like.” She gave a salute and whirled out the door and down the road.

Emily ran her thumb over the embossed logo on her card, and then looked back up at the barkeep, without saying anything.

He nodded at her. “She’s alright. “Er Mum and Dad were regulars ‘ere, I’ve know ‘er all her life. She’s alright. Talks too much. Like ‘er Dad.”

Emily plugged the number into her phone.


End file.
